


Silver and Cold

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only the right kind of blackmail would get Jeeves to go along with it. Unfortunately, someone has exactly that kind, threatening Mr. Wooster. How much can a paragon take?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver and Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This has been translated into Chinese by [ Duyanxi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Duyanxi/pseuds/Duyanxi) if you would rather read it [ here ](http://www.mtslash.org/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=214624&page=1&extra=#pid4096498).

I am not one to make snap judgments about people. I know how easy it is for an honorable man to be unable to afford the clothes that reflect his inner being. Often, honorable men spend most of their money on the needs of their loved ones, and subsist on functional clothes. The gentlemen I have worked for have, on occasion, represented the other end of that spectrum. Having money to indulge their whims, they follow the trends of fashion with more dedication than they have for maintaining their reputations.

Early in my career, I was subject to taking whatever job came my way. As time passed and I was able to screen my employers, I no longer had to work for such persons. The book at the Junior Ganymede Club had suggested Mr. Wooster was a nice, honorable man, so I took the position when it was available. I was concerned with Mr. Wooster’s wardrobe when I first began organizing it, but he quickly showed me that concern was unwarranted. His fashion choices were in keeping with his chipper personality, and Mr. Wooster preferred clothing as colorful as his nature. Mr. Wooster liked his clothing but was amicable to my suggestions as what to wear, showing he was more concerned with his Code of the Wooster’s than fashion. 

When Mr. Wooster brought Cleve Rupert home, I fought myself to not dislike the man. A handsome man, built similar to Mr. Wooster, with sandy hair over light brown eyes, he was dressed well in last year’s fashion. I did not have a reason for it, but I disliked him from the moment I opened the door. He greeted me, when many of Mr. Wooster’s contemporaries would have ignored me, but he was American and unlikely to know he could ignore the help. I tried to push my feelings aside as I served them drinks, for the man did not say or do anything to confirm my suspicions. I am a rational man and actively looked for signs that Mr. Rupert was not what he seemed. Perhaps that was the problem, that his words and actions were too perfect. 

Mr. Rupert was flattering Mr. Wooster, praising his choice of clothes and hotel. He told highly amusing tales of his life in California. Mr. Wooster had been pulled to this state by the call of the Wild West and planned for a month here. Perhaps the timing of Mr. Rupert’s arrival is what put me on edge. It was only our third night in Los Angeles, adequate time for a confidence man to select a target. A day to watch and study, selecting the perfect way to get what you want from a man, before moving in. After I served drinks and supper, Mr. Wooster informed me that Mr. Rupert would be staying the night. 

As I helped Mr. Wooster into his bed for the night, he was too excited about the new friend he had made to listen to my subtle warnings. I felt I would need to be on my guard over the next few days, but I also knew sleep would be elusive with that man in the same suite. With a fortifying cup of tea, I sat in my room and read. I even kept my uniform on, fearing I might need to be dressed for whatever happened. When the door opened at about four in the morning, I expected Mr. Rupert. Mr. Wooster was a heavy sleeper; once he was asleep it was difficult to rouse him. I was unfortunately correct in my belief it would be Mr. Rupert and feared the truth behind my snap judgment was about to be revealed. 

“Jeeves, what’s got you up at this time of night?” With curiosity in his voice, Mr. Rupert appeared interested in my answer. 

“I was unable to sleep and sought distraction in this book.” I bookmarked the page and closed the book, so I could show him the object in question. Placing it on the small table in my room, I stood to talk with Mr. Rupert. “Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?” 

“Tell me your first name.” 

“Sir?” A rather random question to ask a servant in the middle of the night, but not so far from propriety that I could avoid answering. 

“I want to know your first name, surely that’s not too unreasonable.” 

“It is Reginald, Sir, but Jeeves is sufficient for most things.” 

“Reginald Jeeves, a right proper English butler. What would I have to offer, for you to come and work for me?” 

“Thank you kindly, sir, but I am quite content in my current position as Mr. Wooster’s valet.” The answer was automatic, as I have been asked to work for so many of Mr. Wooster’s acquaintances. 

“Yeah, I noticed that. Also noticed how dependent Bertie is on you.” 

“Sir, it is my job to provide for Mr. Wooster’s needs.” 

“And the needs of his friends?” 

“If they do not run contrary to Mr. Wooster’s needs.” 

“You forgot to call me sir!’ Mr. Rupert’s singsong, teasing voice irritated me greatly, but I managed not to tell him why I had omitted that word. I was encouraging him toward emotionalism, hoping he would reveal his purpose that much sooner. “I’m an enterprising man, and I know a good buy when I see one. I got the feeling that you knew that about me, so I’m going to forget the plans I had for your employer.” 

“How generous, sir.” The sir was back, showing my appreciation of his decision. Attempting to injure my master is most unwise. 

“It would have been interesting to match wits with you, but nothing could stop us if we worked together. So I changed my plan, and set my cap for you, so to speak. You can either be my partner or my servant, your choice really.” 

“Sir, I was sincere when I said I was content with Mr. Wooster.” I had to think about my reply, because his word choice was telling. I would stay with Mr. Wooster as long as he allowed, but Mr. Rupert had something else in mind. 

“Slave it is then.” His charming smile changes subtly, but still does not reflect his true emotions. “I saw you get off the boat the other night and followed you around for a while. Took some interesting pictures during your sightseeing tour the next day. I have several copies in a safe, secure location, so you can keep these.” 

I take the pictures he hands me and carefully flip through them. In a crowd of other people with cameras, I had not noticed that we were the subjects of a few pictures. The angles, the lighting made it seem as if we had accidently been in the photograph, but we were highly visible nonetheless. Here, we emerged from the tour bus and I straightened Mr. Wooster’s tie. Later, before boarding that bus again, I had brushed dirt off of his shoulders. At the museum I was leaning over Mr. Wooster’s shoulder, clarifying the placard under a painting. In a small café near the museum, I served Mr. Wooster and he grinned his gratitude up at me. I knew what was happening in each of the four photographs, but they were shot with a specific objective. A suspicion was rising in the back of my mind, but I ignored it to reply. 

“I see nothing more here than a valet serving his gentleman. I might even consider adding these photographs to the ones Mr. Wooster has taken of this trip.” That was a lie, as it would be strange for a gentleman to have pictures of his valet, but I could keep them without raising questions. 

“Really? Maybe the police will see them differently when I add these two other photographs.” The next picture he hands to me was taken through Mr. Wooster’s bedroom window at this hotel. I am helping him out of his shirt, and the low lighting makes it difficult to see our faces. Nothing that cannot be explained away, as it falls within my duties to assist him with dressing. Still, my stomach flips in anticipation of where Mr. Rupert might be taking this. As he hands the last photograph over, my fears are confirmed. I flip the picture over, so that I can concentrate on the confidence man. 

“That is not Mr. Wooster or I, as we have never engaged in such activities.” 

“Looks like you to me. As an upstanding American citizen, I don’t think I’d have any trouble convincing a judge to see my perspective against you limeys.” He has a point there, as the Colonies still hosted ill feelings toward England. With a shrug and a grin, he places a folded sheet of paper on top of my book. “I’m going to go back to bed. You will meet me at that address at 3 p.m., and I don’t care how you leave Bertie’s employ. Just bring all your personal items and whatever bits and bobs Bertie won’t miss. I don’t think it’s necessary to insult your intelligence by telling you what will happen if you don’t show up. Night-night!” 

His voice is terribly happy as he leaves and I had a strong desire to crack his skull with my chair. Instead I force myself to look at the last photograph with clinical detachment. The background is blurry enough to conceivably be the hotel room from the earlier picture. I felt the individual posing as Mr. Wooster was too bulky for my young master’s lean frame, but those who did not help him as I did would not have seen the difference. I suppose he could have stripped down to his under things in court, but a lawyer could claim he lost weight on purpose. 

The man posing as myself had the rough hands of a laborer, which would have caught on Mr. Wooster’s finer garments. My imposter stood behind Mr. Wooster’s, but was broad enough to still be seen as naked. The faces of our imposters were turned to each other for a kiss, and a large hand rested under the fake Mr. Wooster’s belly button. The image ended at that hand, sparing the viewer from further evidence of what they were doing. 

No imagination was needed here to see what damage the photograph could do. Neither of us would have enjoyed prison, but I fear it would be too much for Mr. Wooster’s gentle nature. Mr. Rupert had clearly gone to a great deal of trouble for his extortion attempt. Which made it even stranger that he had abandoned that plan to acquire my services. All I had to do was assist Mr. Rupert until Mr. Wooster was safely out of the United States. With Mr. Wooster’s safety assured, nothing would stop me from bringing Mr. Rupert to the attention of the police. 

He failed to consider that Mr. Wooster was my primary concern. His accusations were untrue, but not unfounded. My initial impressions of Mr. Wooster, of his honorable nature and true gentlemanly behavior had been correct. Eventually, I had come to do more than appreciate Mr. Wooster. Never would I speak of it, or attempt to do anything such as seen in the photograph, as much as I wanted to. No, Mr. Wooster was too fine of a gentleman to be sullied by such crass needs. 

Even as I could not tell him of my inappropriate feelings, I could not reveal the nature of this extortion. I would leave his employ for now, and reevaluate the situation when I was free from Mr. Rupert. Once assured of Mr. Wooster’s safety, I would find him and tell him part of why I had left. Forgiveness might be more than I could expect, so understanding would have to be enough. I placed the photographs inside my book and began to pack my things. I had no fire to burn the last photograph so I put it with the others. Mr. Rupert doubtless had copies of that one, as it was the one that would do the most damage, but I feared it for other reasons. 

It was an image I had not let myself dwell upon before. It was so close to those forbidden dreams, made even more real by being in a black and white photograph. Sleeping was now impossible, as even blinking my eyes allowed me to see that image burned onto the back of my eyelids. I acknowledge that is a fanciful depiction, as the image was entirely in my mind, but Mr. Wooster did that to me. His presence was enough to make me more emotional, more capable of enjoying ordinary things. Being around Mr. Wooster made me happier and I disliked Mr. Rupert for taking that from me. I am not a vindictive individual, but I will find a way to make him hurt for this. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


Once the stores opened, I had the chance to do some shopping and run an errand. I would not stoop to stealing ‘bits and bobs’ from anyone, particularly Mr. Wooster. A small investment of my own money and I had several pieces of silver that looked expensive enough to appease Mr. Rupert. I also purchased a small, sharp knife with a sheath that strapped to my forearm, under my shirt. Violence is not my preferred method of dealing with people but there are things I will not tolerate from Mr. Rupert. Threats to the safety and wellbeing of Mr. Wooster are not things I can abide from anyone. 

Even as I ease Mr. Wooster into the day, I dread what is coming. Occasionally, he gives me looks of speculation and all I can do is pretend to be busy. Room service brings the morning meal I would normally prepare and he eats slowly. I don’t want Mr. Wooster to ever finish, but he does and I move in to clean up. 

“Jeeves, ol’ top, I miss your toast. One of the great problems of traveling is you don’t cook for me. I think I’ll eat in for a week after we get back and just enjoy your cooking!” 

Mr. Wooster is generous with his complements and I always relish them. This one cuts like a knife. I have to force myself to breathe and tell him that won’t be possible. “Sir, I regret to inform you that I am leaving your employ.” 

“What? That’s not spiffing, not at all on Jeeves!” 

“Forgive me Sir, but I have had an offer I cannot refuse.” 

“What is it? I’ll top it, triple it whatever you want me to do! We can travel more; I know how you love traveling. Or I could hire you a valet!” 

“Sir, this offer is not something you can match.” With his kind soul, Mr. Wooster would never even consider blackmail as a viable solution for getting what he wanted. The tray starts to rattle in my hands, and I am forced to put it down. “Forgive me Sir, but I took the liberty of hiring a replacement to see you to London. If you wish to retain his services after that, further negotiation will be required. Mr. Robert Morgan will be here at teatime.” 

“Teatime? Today? Surely you don’t plan on leaving me today?” His voice is almost panicked at my desertion. I had to clear my suddenly thick throat before I could add the final straw. 

“Sir, I feel a quick, clean break would be quicker to heal, if you will pardon the metaphor.” 

“I’ll pardon the metawhatsit but I don’t know if I can pardon you! Abandoning me in a foreign country!” 

Up on his feet, he begins pacing like a hound on a leash, muttering about the unfairness of my actions. I have to convince myself this is better than the truth. Mr. Wooster would attempt to fix things and probably make them worse. Until I can find a way out, I must see to it that I am the only one upon whom trouble may fall. I leave him to his pacing and hide in my room. 

After a half hour, I emerge with my suitcases in hand. I put them by the door, hoping he doesn’t notice that I have one more today than yesterday. Reaching the end of the sitting room he turns and faces me. Eyes flick to the suitcases and focus on me. I consider falling to my knees and begging forgiveness, but drop my eyes instead. 

“Jeeves, you’re really going?” 

I have to look at him, as this may well be the last time I see him, but I regret it. The pain in his eyes and expressive face hurts me more than I can let him see. “Forgive me, Sir, but my new employer expects me.” 

I expect a new level of pain but instead his face goes dead. No emotion shows through, no life. My feet move toward him and he stops me with a hand. “If you must go, Jeeves, I hope you’re happy.” 

Turning, Mr. Wooster walks away, closing the bedroom door behind him. I need to comfort him, but have long put my needs behind that of my employer. I truly feel the clean cut heals the quickest and I must preserve Mr. Wooster even at the cost of my own pain. Now, my primary motive is keeping him out of jail and I leave the hotel suite expeditiously. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


I have a couple of hours before Mr. Rupert expects me, but I need the time. I walk until I come to a small park, where I can sit on a bench and breathe. I do not plan or think. I simply breathe and try not to feel. My actions hurt Mr. Wooster and I ache for that, beyond what simply knowing I will not be near him does to me. 

An hour before my appointment with Mr. Rupert and I take a cab to the street he gave me. A nice area of shops and houses, apparently for those who achieved the American dream, but not up to Mr. Wooster’s standards. The neighborhood is friendly, but not one where a valet would be a common addition to a household. I strike up conversations with shopkeepers and people who might know such things to learn about Mr. Rupert. 

He comes and goes, buys things and acts courteous, but is not considered friendly. He does not learn the names of those he interacts with, or care about their lives. With Mr. Rupert, sir and madam are not signs of respect; they are a method for not having to learn the names of people. Mr. Rupert is a user of people, and an abuser as our interactions have shown. 

I knock on his door at the appointed hour, with trepidation in every fiber of my being. He opens the door quickly, with a malicious grin firmly in place. In his shirt sleeves and suspenders, tie around his neck but not tied, shirt only halfway buttoned, he is undressed where the whole world could see. I most certainly would never allow Mr. Wooster to do such a thing, but that is the least of my concerns here. I enter the house and take a surreptitious look around. Mr. Rupert’s abode is elegantly decorated down the hallway and in the rooms we pass as I followed him. I have the feeling that it is just stage dressing and will collapse under closer observation. 

In the kitchen, he leans against the refrigerator and points to the frame hanging on the wall behind him. A cheap wooden frame has a matte place holder for six pictures. Five of those places are filled with pictures, the sixth all the more evident for its emptiness. The five innocent pictures of Mr. Wooster and I only bring to mind the final image. Heat creeps across my face and I force myself to look at Mr. Rupert with professionalism. Murder was becoming more attractive every time I saw his face. 

“I picked out the decorations just for you Reggie.” He looks expectant, though I can’t imagine he planned for me to thank him. “Naturally, the kitchen will be your domain and I won’t disturb you while you’re in here. So I thought a reminder of why you’re here might be in order.” 

He is grinning at me, the fox clearly expecting the chickens to panic in the henhouse. I do not panic, particularly when Mr. Wooster is safe. 

“Perhaps, sir, you might tell me of your expectations of me.” Mr. Rupert is disappointed in my reaction, but doesn’t project it. 

“Drop your clothes, you can unpack later. Bring the goodies into the living room and we’ll talk.” Since the silver was in one case, this was easily done and I followed him back down the hall. The living room was lit only by the half opened curtains in front of the large windows. Mr. Rupert sprawls on the couch facing the unused fireplace and points to the sidebar. “Highball, Jevian, and make one for yourself.” 

“It is not my practice to indulge while on duty, sir.” I speak as I place the suitcase down and select the appropriate glass. 

“I didn’t ask. You will do what I say, my good man.” This man is indeed a snake charmer, for his tone gives nothing away about his true emotional state. Mr. Rupert was pleasant and had he not blackmailed me into this position I might not have recognized his irritation. I now know what he expects: instant obedience and no questions asked. I present the drinks on a tray and he smiles at me. He picked a glass with his right hand and patted the couch with his left. “Sit, sir, sit and share your drink with me.” 

“It is not proper, sir.” Before the words were out, I saw the corners of his eyes tighten a tiny amount. Not much of an indicator of his emotional state as I had to be staring at his face to see it, but it was a good start. Mr. Rupert’s eyes relaxed as he spoke, but my stomach clenched. 

“Not in jolly old England any longer, dear boy. Different place, different rules. My rules, really.” He patted the small space beside him on the couch again and I slowly folded into it. “Don’t forget to indulge!” 

A friendly reminder of the drink I held, but still an order. I sipped at it, carefully placing it back on the tray between sips. Mr. Rupert downed his with an inordinate amount of noise, smacking his lips. He set the glass on my tray and turned to stare at me. I take another sip and almost spit it out when he touches the back of my head. 

“You’ve the most extraordinarily shaped head, R.J.” 

“A family trait, sir.” His hand moved to the top of my head and slowly moved downward, back to where it had been. My backbone is painfully stiff, afraid of this caress. Clearly he was curious about my head and I was putting too much thought into it because of the nature of his extortion. Another sip at the drink is an effort to keep him from seeing me watch him out of the corner of my eye. 

“Reg, stand up.” I do so, quickly and gratefully, standing where etiquette said I should. “Put the drink tray on the mantle.” 

Another command I could follow, even as I knew he was leading somewhere with this. 

“Take off your jacket.” I paused to blink at him and his eyes tightened. “I don’t like to repeat myself.” 

I took off my jacket and folded it over my left forearm, hoping it hid the sheath under the long-sleeved shirt. 

“Put it back on.” Complying with that order was almost a reward, him letting me back into my comfort zone. Mr. Rupert was letting me know what he expected of me, though not through civilized discourse. “Take off your shoes.” 

I did so, expecting him to continue in this vein for a while. His smile shifted, as though he knew what I was thinking. 

“Kneel.” I have often been on my knees in the performance of household duties, such as hemming pants or cleaning the floors. I was now slow to find this position, having to convince myself it was simply another duty. “Crawl to me.” 

None of my previous employers, regardless of what I thought of their honor, had ever expected that of me. It rankled and Mr. Rupert saw that in my stillness. 

“Reginald, I think I should call Bertie and invite him over for supper. You can either bring me the phone or do as I say.” He seems genuinely confused as to what he should do, but I know he has a plan. What would further exposure to Mr. Rupert do to kind Mr. Wooster? How would Mr. Wooster feel, seeing my new circumstances? What would he think of me? What would it do to me to have to serve Mr. Wooster supper when he was still so angry with me? More questions came and I knew I could not handle the answers. I put my hands on the carpet and crawl to Mr. Rupert. 

The carpet had once been a tribute to the weaver’s art, but it was now dusty and threadbare. Colors had faded with age and the low light in the room was partially to hide this fact. This carpet was bought used, probably for the sake of appearing wealthy to the untrained eye. Only when his shoes were before me did I look up from my analysis of his carpet, if indeed it did belong to Mr. Rupert. 

“Fix my tie.” I move to stand, only to find a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t say you could stand.” 

I have to move forward and lean at an odd angle, but I get the tie into a double Winsor knot. I pull away, not wishing to be any closer to this man than I have to. 

“On second thought, put it back the way it was.” I am annoyed with his lesson, but do as instructed. “Now make it into a blindfold and cover my eyes.” 

That order is quite unexpected and does not bode well. I force my hands to not tremble as I blindfold him. This is an excellent opportunity to threaten him, or kill him if I have to. I reach for the knife, even as he reaches up to adjust he blindfold. 

“You’ve not tied many blindfolds I see. I have a friend who’s very good with blindfolds and ropes, so I might have him teach you some things. Oddly enough, this same friend found the two models for that arty photograph you appreciated so much. He took a whole bunch of pictures and has them hidden away in his safe. If anything were to happen to me, who knows what he’d do with the pictures! Jeevy, my friend Sid is not a nice person and I often wonder why we get along so well.” 

The knife stays in its sheath, and my words stay in my mind. A gentleman’s gentleman shouldn’t know those words, let alone say them. Mr. Rupert is smart, but no gentleman. Though with the blindfold’s knot resting on his nose and the tails hanging in front of his face, he did look rather stupid. It might be a mistake, but it might also be a good opportunity to gage his reactions, so I speak. “Doubtless you have more in common than you think, because common ground is the basis for most relationships, sir.” 

“Then what could possibly bind you to Bertie the brainless? Don’t answer that, as I’m sure it’s against some code of honor to discuss past employers or some such.” He had baited me with the look of stupidity and quickly picked up on my implication that he wasn’t a nice person. Insulting Mr. Wooster would be his first reaction to any activities on my part that he took offense to. “I want you to appreciate me, Jevy. I’m a better master than Bertie and I can prove it. I’ll provide you with challenges and the things Bertie didn’t know you wanted. All you have to do is make me happy.” 

With the blindfold on, he pulls a picture from his pants pocket and slowly fans himself with it. It is a slow motion, so I could clearly see which picture it was. “Mr. J., undo my trousers.” 

I wouldn’t know exactly when Mr. Wooster sailed, but I was sure he would leave according to the tickets I had purchased. He might chose to leave before, but I knew he would not stay past that day. I had twenty-eight days to prostitute myself to this man before I brought his end to him. This was my consolation as I opened his trousers and freed his half formed erection. I knew what he wanted, but I had to work past my disgust to do it. 

“Use your mouth, Jeevy, and make me happy.” His hand fell to the couch beside him, careful to hold the picture where I could not help but to see it. To protect Mr. Wooster I leaned forward and did as he instructed. Mr. Rupert provided more instructions about where to lick and when to apply suction. The first thing I knew about him being close was when he grabbed my head in both hands. He held me down on him as he came and instructed me to swallow. I did so and pulled away as soon as he let me. I wanted to vomit and drink his entire liquor supply. I fought down those urges to kneel and wait for further instructions. Mr. Rupert pulled the blindfold off and turned to the curtained window on the far side of the room. “Did you get ‘em?” 

A small pudgy man emerged from behind the curtains, holding a camera with a long lens. “Just like you ordered, can’t see your face in any of them but it’s clear what he’s doing.” 

“Be sure to send me copies of the good ones, Sid!” Mr. Rupert gave him a jovial wave, but Sid looked at me with disgust. Clearly, Sid thought I was the sick one here. I would have liked to educate him but he soon slammed the front door behind him. “Nicely done, J.R.! You realize that if I send in those pictures with the ones I already have, the authorities will assume it’s his dick in your mouth? They’ll put you in a nice jail and him in another. The worst part is all the other men who will get to do to Bertie what you were arrested for.” 

He stares at me, waiting for his message to sink in. “Bertie may have your loyalty and the devil may have your soul. I don’t care, because your body and mind now belong to me. Put the goodies at my feet, then figure out what you need to stock the kitchen. You’ve got some shopping to do before making supper.” 

Accepting that as a dismissal, I stood and did as instructed. When I returned with a shopping list, he was examining the silver. He had not put himself back together and I had to duck back into the hallway. Regaining my composure, I managed to have a conversation about groceries without looking at his penis. Still, I shopped as long as I dared before returning to start supper. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


Mr. Rupert settled on calling me Reeves, which was the least of his transgressions. His business meetings could occur at any time, so I could not adequately prepare for the number of guests at any meal. For the first week of my sentence with Mr. Rupert, he had a different girl over every night. I would not care to speculate about these women as individuals, but I can confirm they were well paid to spend time in his company. He would whisper to them, and they would stare at me as they laughed. When he dismissed me for the night in the presence of such a woman, he would end with the same crude joke. I would pass up the proffered opportunity to observe them together for educational purposes and retreat to my room. 

When he dismissed me with a certain hand gesture, I was to sit in the kitchen with the radio on. He was confidant he owned me, but did not want me to know too much about his dealings. He felt the need for preapproval of my shopping lists and grudgingly handed me the money to spend. Mr. Rupert constantly ordered me about. It may seem odd that this bothered me, as I am essentially a servant, but previously I had a certain amount of leeway. Most of my employers did not care how a thing got done, so long as it was done. I concluded that Mr. Rupert simply enjoyed giving orders. 

His offer to select any room I wished sounded genuine, even for a man as superficially cordial as Mr. Rupert. There were few pieces of available furniture to place in my room, so clearly I did not need a large one. I selected the butler’s pantry, a small room off of the kitchen. I had hoped his initial statement about leaving me alone while I was in the kitchen would extend to this area. Mr. Rupert craved having people around him, particularly people he could order around. 

When he was not asleep, drunk or entertaining guests, Mr. Rupert would follow me as I went about my duties. ‘You missed a spot’ was a favorite phrase of Mr. Rupert’s, indicating I should do the entire task again. This irritation could have been ignored or grown accustomed to. The upstairs rooms, save his, had all been stripped of anything that would fetch a price. Cleaning those two floors was my responsibility, as was maintaining the more elegant downstairs. As I suspected, the items downstairs were imitations and easily identified as such up close. 

Two days after our time together began; I was in the lavatory and making myself presentable for the day ahead. I was not aware of his sleep habits as of yet and had been quite surprised when he opened the locked door. Mr. Rupert’s hair was mussed and he was smiling over his plaid dressing gown. His eyes, however, were so tight they were almost closed. 

“Reeves, my lad, I don’t like locked doors inside my house.” He jiggled the key ring as he pocketed it, so I could not help but see it. 

“Forgive me, sir. I was not aware of this and will endeavor to remember.” 

“No problem.” His tone did not fool me, nor did his smile as he leaned against the doorframe. “Do what you need to, forget I’m here.” 

Realizing he intended to watch me, I was glad certain bodily functions had already been accomplished. I was used to seeing my employers in such state, but the reverse was unsettling. Even to an amateur student of psychology such as myself, it was strange how simply not being able to lock a door was so demoralizing. With privacy forbidden and the only books in the house being the ones I had brought, my idle time was no longer free. 

My dreams became the most stimulating part of my life. Invariably, they involved Mr. Wooster, as they had for years. Before, they had been the forbidden images of Mr. Wooster in my arms. Now my dreams, my fondest wishes, were only to serve him again. For a week, I dreamed of bringing Mr. Wooster food and drinks. Monday night, I leaned over to light his cigarette and the Mr. Wooster of my dreams slid his hand up the inside of my thigh. Despite the depressing reality of my life, I was instantly hard. Mr. Wooster gave a cruel laugh at my condition and woke me from my dreams. Mr. Rupert was standing over me, his face hidden in the darkness. He had to move the blanket to stroke me over my pajamas, but I cover myself anyway. He laughs again, before taunting me with words. 

“Come, come Reeves, you don’t have to hide your humanity from me.” 

“You prey on such humanity, sir.” Abruptly leaving my sleep has loosened my tongue, but Mr. Rupert is in a good mood. 

“You shouldn’t say such things to a man who brought you presents!” He turns on the electric light on the bedside table, forcing me to see his face. 

Mr. Rupert produces a photograph out of the pocket of his dressing gown and presents it to me with a flourish. I have to look, so I critique the photograph as I do. I am surprised at how well lit his lap had been that first day. Falling right in the open area of the living room curtains, his lap and my face are clearly visible but the blindfold hides his features. His nondescript clothes, light colored hair, build, and hidden face could pass as belonging to Mr. Wooster. Swallowing, I try to hand the photograph back. 

“Keep it, in fond remembrance of me. I have several copies, and Sid has a lot more. Now for the second gift.” 

With the air of St. Nick, he pulls a small bottle from the other dressing gown pocket. A quick sniff confirms it is body oil, and I fake confusion as I look up at him. 

“Drop your pants, and lay on your stomach.” The words confirm what I suspected when I realized he handed me a bottle of oil that could be used as a lubricant. “I want you to make me happy, Reeves.” 

Looking at the photograph in my hand allows me to comply without thinking about it. Burying my head in the pillow and grasping the headboard, the picture falls to my bed. Considering the state of Mr. Wooster’s apartment after long journeys such as this, I speculate on which task will be the most urgent upon his return. If he is rested and the boat does not dock too late, he usually goes into the club. This gives me the chance to air out the flat as I dust. If the boat arrives early in the day, I also get the opportunity to wipe inside the clothing drawers before I refill them with his wardrobe basics. It is amazing the kinds of things that can collect in drawers, even when they only have clean clothes put into them. I suspect most of those drawers will need to be relined within the year, and I should have mentioned that to the replacement I hired. 

A sudden addition of weight pulls me from my thoughts and I realize Mr. Rupert has collapsed on top of me. His heavy breathing tells me he is not dead from his exertions and all I dare do is wait for him to leave. When the first snore reaches my ear, I have to force myself to not throw him to the floor. Mr. Rupert has fallen asleep on top of me, with his fluid dripping uncomfortably out of me. By now I know he is an incredibly light sleeper. He even told me that I woke him that night in Mr. Wooster’s hotel suite when I set my teacup on the saucer a little too forcefully. So I do not move and risk waking him. Instead I lay there and try not to wish for the chance to kill him. At least not for another twenty days, at which time I will take whatever actions present themselves. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


My first thought upon waking is the number of days until Mr. Wooster sails. I often speculate on how long after he sails I should wait before acting. I do not know how much effort the local authorities will put into chasing down an alleged deviant. It does not matter which day of the month it is, as my perception of time has narrowed down to Mr. Wooster’s departure date. I am not particularly superstitious either, but when I knocked a heavy pan to the floor, my first thought is of the unlucky thirteen. Less than two weeks until Mr. Wooster sailed and I make an error. 

Hastily preparing Mr. Rupert’s morning coffee, I carry it up to his room. I would have preferred to let him sleep as long as possible, but he was a very light sleeper. I was positive the noise of the pan would wake him, and his punishment would be cruel. Since that first time, when he had entered my bedroom with his presents, Mr. Rupert had not sought the company of paid women. Often he had thanked me for saving him so much money, but his rewards had been the same as his punishments. 

Mr. Rupert would call out for me, asking that I ‘make him happy.’ If I was in another room, I was expected to stop what I was doing and go to him. Once there, he would tell me exactly how to proceed. I began to carry a bottle of oil with me at all times, rather than trusting to whatever was on hand. He preferred oral stimulation, as I had to actively participate in the process. He must have realized I could direct my mind outward during other sexual activities. I had worked to avoid his bedroom, cleaning it when he was out of the house or in a business meeting. 

He preferred to dress, shave, and bathe himself. My disinclination to be near him kept me from pointing out that these were within my scope of duties. With eighteen days to go, I had been putting shirts in his drawers when he returned early from a business luncheon. His large, soft bed would have been more comfortable than my own, so he had put me in positions designed to increase his pleasure. I do not get any pleasure from his touch, but that afternoon I received chaffed wrists and inflamed patches of skin from rubbing against the carpet. I had redoubled my efforts to avoid his bedroom, but now I had woken him with a careless act. It was my duty to bring him coffee when he woke, but his strange schedule meant he most often turned up at random times and did not expect this of me. 

Knocking softly on the door is a matter of form, so I enter without verbal permission. The bed had not been slept in and a heady relief washes over me. I set the tray down and look into the en suite bathroom before enjoying it, however. When I don’t see him, I hide my grin and leave the bedroom. Seeing that he is not in the downstairs rooms, I return to the kitchen. A celebratory breakfast for myself is clearly in order. 

I would listen to the radio, classical music I enjoy instead of the more popular choices Mr. Rupert insists on, but I must be able to hear him return. I am drying my plate when I hear knocking at the front door. Mr. Rupert would not knock at his own house, so I make myself presentable as I go to answer it. A plainclothes officer and two uniformed policemen stare at me once the door is opened. 

“Who are you?” The plainclothes officer is clearly annoyed that I am not Mr. Rupert. 

“Sir, I am the butler.” 

“Cleve’s got himself a butler, huh? Well, butle along and tell him the cops are here.” 

“I am sorry sir, but Mr. Rupert is not home at this time.” 

“Yeah, I’ve never heard that before. So why don’t you invite us to come in and wait for him?” The officer clearly expects me to refuse, as he shifts to let me see his sidearm. As I am expecting to turn Mr. Rupert over to them in approximately thirteen days, I feel making a good impression on them could only benefit my case. 

“Of course sirs, I will even give you a tour of the premises if you are so inclined.” They were so inclined, so I showed them the house. They laughed at the empty rooms upstairs, but did not wonder why I stood in front of a picture frame as they examined the kitchen. After convincing them to wait for Mr. Rupert in the sitting room, I served them coffee. 

I answered their questions as best I could, avoiding any questions that might lead to my previous employer or the reasons for my leaving Mr. Wooster. Lieutenant Lowe, the plainclothes man, picks up on my hesitation but another knock at the door pulls me away before he can ask me about it. Lt. Lowe goes with me to answer the door, curious when he sees the telegram delivery man. Even as I tip the deliveryman I notice the name it was addressed to, and so does Lt. Lowe. 

“Thought you said your name was Jeeves?” Lt. Lowe is trying for casual, but I can hear the need to know in his voice. Closing the door, I lead the way back into the sitting room, where the other policemen are waiting. 

“It is, sir. Reginald Jeeves, but Mr. Rupert prefers to call me Reeves.” 

“Why?” 

“I do not know, sir.” It is yet another annoyance from Mr. Rupert that I am not allowed to question him about. I open the telegram with Lt. Lowe at my shoulder and I hand it to him to read after I am done. The message is very short, but quite clear to me. 

_Get the picture?_

“What’s that supposed to mean, then?” Lt. Lowe does not understand the threat behind those three words and I have to lie to him about them. 

“I was to run an errand for Mr. Rupert today. He had a painting he wanted me to examine, to see about the size of the frame needed. I suspect he was afraid I would forget, as I have not worked for him for very long and he does not know if I am reliable.” Lt. Lowe taps a cigarette against his case as he thinks things over. 

“You don’t expect him for a while, do you?” He lights the cigarette and looks up to hear my reply. 

“Mr. Rupert’s schedule is often unpredictable, sir, and I cannot guess when he will return.” 

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr. Jeeves?” Lt. Lowe’s face tells me he knows I have more to say. I will tell him more, but not for thirteen days. 

“Not at this time, sir.” 

He is disappointed, but I think he understood I have a schedule to keep. “Well, we’ll be back ourselves; I leave it up to you if you tell him that.” 

“Understood, sir.” I will admit to surprise at his acceptance of my refusal, but it is the suggestion that I not tell Mr. Rupert of his visitors that is shocking. Such a thing would go against my duties, but it would be better for catching Mr. Rupert unaware. Unfortunately, the telegram is evidence that Mr. Rupert knows the police are interested in him. I watch the police leave and see them pointedly not notice a man leaning on a lamppost across the way. When I check back after cleaning up the refreshments, that man has changed positions but is still there. I return to the kitchen and the telephone begins to ring. I am not to tell people who they are calling so I answer as Mr. Rupert prefers. 

“Good morning, how may I assist you?” 

“Calm yourself Reeves, I haven’t abandoned you!” I wish you had is not an appropriate response, so I do not utter it. I wait, and the falsely cheerful Mr. Reeves has to fill the silence. “So what’ve you been up to today?” 

“I informed the police that you were not at home and they insisted on waiting for you. I served them coffee and biscuits. They left shortly after they finished the refreshments, and I was cleaning up after them.” 

“That all you told ‘em?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I don’t know if I believe you, but the picture in my pocket says you’ll go to jail with me. Wouldn’t that be great, all that time together for you to make me happy?” I am glad he cannot hear the violent shiver that works up my spine at that thought. “So get anything valuable, anything you don’t want the cops to have and sneak out the back door. Take a cab to the corner of Eastman and Laird, I’ll pick you up there in two hours. Cheery bye!” 

The line disconnects and I replace the handset in the cradle. I set about my tasks in relatively good humor. Mr. Rupert has made his first mistake, and I intend to take advantage of it. By instructing me to take anything I did not want the cops to have, he left me the option of leaving anything I did want them to have. I could, therefore, leave a note for Lt. Lowe. Under the auspice of describing why I left, I might be careless enough to include names and descriptions of Mr. Rupert’s known associates. I did not know where I was going, but logically I might be contacted through any one of them. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


Mr. Rupert shows up on time and a cab takes us to a poor part of town. He has taken the penthouse suite of the local hotel under the name of Rupert Thorn. I expect to sleep on the couch, as the suite has two bedrooms but does not have servants quarter’s attached. Sid is waiting with a collection of alcohol in a suitcase and I serve them drinks while they plan. By the time the suitcase is empty of alcohol, I have determined several things. Mr. Rupert is indeed a confidence man and Sid Saperstein provides him with any forged papers he may need. 

The house I left this afternoon was stolen from the rightful owners with such a document, but one of their relatives was a lawyer. He had not let the house go and found evidence that the will had been forged. The police were only there to question Mr. Rupert, but he managed to stay off their radar by being willing to relocate at a moment’s notice. I was apparently the only thing in the house he had valued. He had met Mr. Saperstein in jail, so he did have a criminal record, though that was under a different name. 

Their plans grew every more wild as the alcohol was emptied from the bottles, so I did not give them too much thought. When Mr. Saperstein finally left for his own room, the suitcase clanking with each step, I locked the door behind him. I was surprised Mr. Saperstein had his own room and that I would get to sleep in a bed tonight. Turning, I intended to clean until Mr. Rupert was ready for sleep but one look told me he had other things on his mind. 

“Reeves, the walls are paper thin in this crappy hotel, so you’re going to have to help me sleep.” I was not sure what he meant, but I was fairly certain I would not like it. 

“I can go to the chemist and fetch you a sleeping pill, sir.” 

“I hate pills, they dull the mind.” 

“Indeed, sir.” It was all I could say, because my thoughts would have gotten me in trouble. I simply did not understand how a person could consume that much alcohol in one evening and be upset that a pill might dull his mind. 

“I need somebody to keep me warm and safe from the monsters of the world.” It was with considerable difficulty that I refrained from pointing out that he was one of said monsters. “Get ready for bed Reeves, you’re sleeping with me tonight.” 

Mr. Rupert went cheerily into the room he had selected, so I gathered my suitcase to do as instructed. In my cleaning of the house, I had never found the copies of the pictures he was holding over me. I had no idea where Mr. Saperstein would keep his, but I thought that knowing the location of Mr. Rupert’s would be a good start. He had left last night for a business deal and had not taken luggage with him. So the pictures had to be at a neutral location, such as a safe deposit box in a bank. Maybe he would need money to buy clothes and I would get an idea of which bank might hold his custom. This was the hope that I clung to as I walked to his door. With my dressing gown over my pajamas and a bottle of oil in my pocket, I knocked on the door. 

“Good timing, my lad!” Taking that as an invitation, I enter. Mr. Rupert is in his under things but does not seem inclined to complain about my oversight. In bringing my belongings, I had brought my clothing, books, five photographs from the kitchen and a tin of tea. I had not been instructed to bring anything of his, which would have been my first concern for most employers. Mr. Wooster considered me a paragon but not even he considered me capable of exceeding my authority without approval. “I’ve got the table from the side of the bed, so I need you to help me shove the bed against the far wall.” 

I did not know why Mr. Rupert was moving hotel furniture, but helped him to move the bed. When that was done to his satisfaction, he gave the room a critical look. “Lock the door and put the table in front of it. Then get naked and join me in the bed.” 

Mr. Rupert had removed his clothing and climbed into the bed while I secured the door. Sitting with his back to the wall, he watched me remove my pajamas. I could not identify the look on his face but knew it was not lust. Confused and relieved, I folded my clothing and put in on the table. I was also glad I had not worn the knife tonight, as was my first inclination. He did not notice these emotions, as he was so caught up in his own. I had to clear my throat to find out what he wanted me to do next. 

“Oh, right! I guess I’m tired, and maybe a little drunk.” He was both of those things, as his fake sounding laugh proved. Normally his fake laugh sounded very sincere. “Turn off the light and get as close as you can to me, laying on your side so you face the door.” 

It was a matter of moments to comply, though I dare not ask. He shifted for a few minutes but finally settled down. I didn’t relax any until I was sure he was asleep and then spent a considerable amount of time examining this. Perhaps, as an extremely light sleeper he was using my body to absorb the noise from the hotel. Mr. Rupert might have been more paranoid than I thought, and was using me as a shield from enemies in the night. I feel asleep entertaining notions about abandonment issues that might have caused him to seek a house for a sense of safety. Deprived of that, he now needed a living cocoon to make him feel safe. Overall, I felt thirteen had actually been a lucky day, as it moved Mr. Rupert out of his comfort zone. Nervous, uncertain people were more likely to make a mistake. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


Day twelve allowed me a taste of freedom as I was sent to purchase new wardrobes for both Mr. Rupert and Mr. Saperstein. Stretching out the money I had been given was more to prolong my respite than out of any concern I had for my employer. Mr. Rupert did not feel the need to pay me, as he was convinced his extortion held me in his sway. 

Today, I took the opportunity and the remaining cash in my wallet to stop for a cup of tea. Mr. Rupert was not fond of the beverage and the hotel did not offer the equipment for brewing in the suite. My hopes were not high for a business called _Tastea_ , but the smell of my pot of Earl Grey was heavenly. I attended to my second cup with the same relish as the first, only to find Lt. Lowe sitting down at my small table. 

“My boss thought I was nuts for staking out tea rooms.” Lt. Lowe effectively dismissed the pleasantries, so I followed suit. 

“Inform him that your idea was successful.” 

“Why don’t I think you’re surprised to see me?” He is grinning as he says this, but interested in my reply. 

“I may have selected the tea room closest to the police precinct you mentioned working out of, but it would have been presumptuous to expect you to be looking for me.” Lt. Lowe’s appraising look is more for his upcoming words than anything I said. 

“I found your note. It kind of gave me the impression you didn’t like your boss much.” 

“I cannot discuss much about my employer or my situation at this time. I, however, do not have any compunction against sharing a few observations.” 

“You’re a smart fellow, so I think your observations might be interesting.” He pulls a small notebook out of his pocket and a pencil from the spiral binding at the top of the notebook. “Share away.” 

“When I was introduced to my employer, I was told his name was Cleve Rupert. His current residence was procured under the alias of Rupert Thorn. I find it reasonable to presume he went by another name at some point, a Mr. Clever or Cleveland perhaps.” His eyebrows shoot upward, but this is the only reaction I see to my analysis. 

“And you can’t tell me where Mr. Thorn is hanging his hat tonight?” 

“No sir.” 

“Figured. Any other observations?” 

“Sid Saperstein, an acquaintance of Mr. Rupert’s, enjoys his pleasures. Mr. Saperstein indulges in artistic pursuits, such as new gallery exhibits on opening night. The threat of extended jail time curtailing those pleasures might loosen his tongue.” 

“I gotta tell ya, most people wouldn’t give this information away. What’s your angle?” Lt. Lowe’s eyes are boring into me as he asks this and it is clear he wants the truth. 

I sip the final cup of tea but am far more concerned with the man in front of me. Lt. Lowe could have arrested me instead of sitting down to talk and I find myself trusting him. Perhaps it also that I recognize I might need assistance in this instance. Either reason is valid, but I do not have to be specific in my request. “Mr. Saperstein has several photographs in his possession, some real and some that used artistic license in their creation. These photographs suggest involvement in criminal activities for two innocent parties.” 

“And you want these fake photos to go away?” 

“For the other party involved, yes.” Suspicion crosses his face; he wonders who the other person is that I would give away my freedom for theirs. “I suspect that the loss of the house will drive Mr. Rupert into increasingly risky behaviors. As such, I might be required to participate in illegal activities. I will leave the consequences to your discretion.” 

Lt. Lowe is shocked by my words, unable to formulate a response as I stand and take my leave. The Lt. does not follow me, but I am careful to watch for other members of the police force. When I enter the hotel room, the conversation stops and all eyes focus on me. Before I can apologize for intruding, Mr. Rupert is on his feet and yelling at me. The woman on the couch ignores his tirade to move closer to Mr. Saperstein. 

“Where have you been? I thought the cops nabbed you! You know what would happen if you opened your mouth, but those cops are liars! They’ll tell you anything, promise they won’t prosecute and then use your words to lock you up!” He pauses for a much needed breath and I take the chance to speak. 

“Sir, I was purchasing clothing. In attempting to get the best value for the money, I may have taken longer than was prudent. Had I known time was of the essence, I would have hurried back. I apologize, sir.” Mr. Rupert glares at me, real anger evident on his features. With a sigh loud enough to be heard over the activities of Mr. Saperstein and the young woman, Mr. Rupert pretends to relent. 

“Fine then, but those clothes had better be good. Come show me.” He even whistles a little as he walks to the bedroom, but the anger is still in his eyes and shoulders. I follow and keep my mind on the clothing in my arms. As I set the packages on the dresser, I hear the door close. I start speaking so that I don’t have to hear it being locked as well. 

“Mr. Saperstein’s clothing will require alterations, so I purchased a small sewing kit. I believed it to be a necessary purchase and hope it will not displease you.” The hand tracing my right shoulder was gentle but I froze anyway. Better to remain stiff and distant than to give into my increasingly violent impulses. 

“Reeves, when I look good, people are more likely to do what I tell them. Other than that, I don’t care about the clothes. I care about what you did while you were away.” His voice is seductive, but I still hear it as a threat. Mr. Rupert knew a great deal of people, and I was aware that it only took one witness to report on my activities. The young lady on the couch could easily have seen me in the tea room or she could be here for the next money making scheme. Considering I was no use to Mr. Rupert dead or incapacitated, I decided to risk the lie. 

“Sir, I went to several different shops and perused the selection for fashionable clothes with wear in them. This took more time than I had anticipated or I would have asked for more specific instructions.” 

“Why did you go to so many stores? You weren’t hoping to run into anybody, where you?” 

“No sir.” That was the truth, as it was only at the tea room that I thought I might run across a policeman. Even then I had only hoped to get a note to Lt. Lowe, the conversation had been a matter of intelligence on his part. “I was afraid my accent would make me memorable and did not want to lead the police to my destination.” 

“So you weren’t tailed?” Mr. Rupert’s voice is gentle, even as his hands began caressing me. 

“I am not an expert an evading pursuit, but I do not believe I was followed.” 

“Good. That makes me happy, you make me happy.” 

I expected that but I did not anticipate him shoving me to the wall beside the dresser. The left side of my face impacted with the mirrored back of the dresser even as I tried to avoid it. Mr. Rupert was in good shape, capable of fighting his way out of the situations he could not talk his way out of. This was the first time he had used that conditioning to bend me to his will. It was not necessary but allowed him to feel more dominate over me. His hands are fumbling at my waist, so I move in to save the fabric of my pants. 

The clothing I had purchased for Mr. Saperstein would have to be altered, but I had been more careful of Mr. Rupert’s clothing. His body shape was more common and I had taken the time to find pieces that would not have to be altered for him. If I argued convincingly, I could spend hours in Mr. Saperstein’s room. I could ignore his disgusted looks, confident he would not expect me to ‘make him happy.’ 

It was rather interesting how the definition of happy had changed in my life. Before, it was something good, a feeling I received from being around Mr. Wooster. Now the word filled me with dread and I had no desire to ever be happy again. Even stronger was my desire to see to it that Mr. Rupert was never happy again, so I held onto that feeling. I could not predict what my remaining sentence with him would entail, but I would do what was required. Mr. Wooster would be safe and I would then deal with Mr. Rupert. I was unsure if Lt. Lowe would prosecute me afterward but…

Thought was driven from my head for a long moment by pain. I return to myself to find I have crumpled to the floor. The placement of the pain tells me I have been kidney punched. Mr. Rupert is staring down at my face and I can clearly see the insanity in his eyes. I shift my left arm against my side, comforted by the feel of the blade there. This man can never be near Mr. Wooster again. 

“I don’t think you liked that, Reeves. I did! I enjoy making you suffer, but you knew that. You should see how pretty you are in pain.” I wish I had not heard that last sentence hissed out at me, but he recovers after saying it. Mr. Rupert shakes his head and grins at me. “Sid and I are taking Val on a job tonight, so you best get to altering Sid’s togs.” 

My breath is too shallow to reply verbally, so I force myself to stand. In considerable pain, I get my trousers up and fastened. Slowly I gather Mr. Saperstein’s packages and leave the room. Mr. Rupert is humming as he sorts through the clothes I have brought him. When they leave two hours later, I allow my body to rest in the unused bed. My brain picks apart my plans, looking for any flaws. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


The three of them are getting along well and there is now a bag of money I am to protect with my life. Day ten sees me guarding the money on my own, re-reading my book. I have read it several times before, but still carried it in my luggage. I had often wondered if Mr. Wooster knew I had it, but was beginning to doubt I would ever find out. I fear Mr. Rupert has grown fond of the control he has over me. 

Each day of blind obedience only makes him more determined to possess me, and he will not give that up easily. I do not think it is anything special about me; he could have fixated on anybody for his emotional needs. Had he attempted this with Mr. Wooster, I would have seen to it that his body was discovered when Mr. Wooster had an unbreakable alibi. As things stand, I caress the sheathed knife every time I hear footsteps in the hallway outside the door. 

They return for supper, half drunk already. Mr. Saperstein is quick to change into his formal wear and leave for the evening. Mr. Rupert and Valarie move to his bedroom and I fall asleep in the other room. When a door slams and wakes me, I see a false dawn outside my window. As my door opens, I fake sleep, but Mr. Rupert is undeterred in his efforts to be made happy. I do not know where Valarie has gone or why, but she does not return before supper. Mr. Saperstein also fails to put in an appearance in the daylight. 

After supper, Mr. Rupert paces for hours, wondering what could have happened at an art gallery to keep Mr. Saperstein this long. He never asks me, so I do not have to share my thoughts on the subject. At midnight, he sets me to packing while he watches my every move. Mr. Rupert sneaks across town, but I am not instructed to do the same so I do not attempt it. Flushed from his hiding place, Mr. Rupert mutters until we find a rooming house. I wonder at his breaking point, and how I shall stretch his mental decline over the remaining time. 

The rooming house is in worse shape than the hotel we left, but advertises that each room comes with kitchen access. I can almost taste the tea when I notice the clerk’s look. Mr. Rupert has booked one room with one bed for the two of us. He does not notice this error or the clerk’s look, and it is not my place to correct him. Two grown men sharing a bed is a good way to get the cops attention, so I impulsively wink at the clerk as we find our way to our room. Such a display is out of my character, but the wide eyes of the clerk show he has noticed. Day nine has started out well and it is not even dawn yet. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


Day seven begins my career as a confidence man. Mr. Rupert is desperate for assistance and money, so he decides it is now one of my duties. I am to pretend to be a satisfied customer, enticing the ’mark’ to grab at what he offers. He is rather surprised to find that I do not do well as his ‘pigeon’ as I lack his ability to lie convincingly. I suspect the fading black eye from the dresser mirror does not enhance my believability as the wholesome character I am to portray. Oddly, I find that my English accent gets thicker around his targets, making me even more suspicious and unintelligible. 

Mr. Rupert is not sleeping well at all and mutters almost constantly now. I do not think he can spare much consideration to my performance as he is so focused on the targets. As the days count down and the bag of money empties, I see more of that insanity in his eyes. Abandonment issues, in combination with his fear of being perceived as poor, are unraveling his mind ahead of my estimation. He is becoming more violent towards me, but I find I prefer this to making him happy. That piece of anatomy does not seem to work when he feels so out of control. 

The night clerk did not call the cops on us, so I make a point of sending the day clerks suggestive looks whenever I follow Mr. Rupert upstairs. It gets harder to do each time, as though my very muscles reject such a public display. Between Mr. Rupert’s increasingly wild plans and my thick English accent, I am sure Lt. Lowe is aware of our vicinity. If the day clerk would only report us to the police, Lt. Lowe would make the connection. 

Time slows as the end approaches and I have to consciously keep my right hand off of the hidden knife. It is the knowledge that slitting his throat will leave Mr. Wooster without protection from those photographs that keeps the knife in the sheath. For my own safety, in light of Mr. Rupert’s increasing erratic behavior, I keep the knife with me at all times now. On the edge of the bed furthest from him, the knife is concealed by blankets at night. It fits snuggly in my toiletries bag and a towel over it keeps Mr. Rupert from seeing it there. The sheath is secured while my back is to him and his muttering lets me keep track of his movements. I know I cannot keep this secrecy up indefinitely, but I know how many hours longer I will keep my secrets. 

I can hardly sleep on my last night with Mr. Rupert, tossing plans around in my head. Originally, I had considered waiting a few more days to let Mr. Wooster get further out to sea, but I find my hatred will not let me. I hate Mr. Rupert and I have never hated anyone before. Many people I dislike or do not want to spend time with, but I want to slit Mr. Rupert’s throat. I do not like this aspect of myself, but such strong emotions are to be expected. 

I awake with the dawn, knowing the boat went out with the tide. Mr. Wooster is safe and a great weight lifts off my shoulders. The need to kill Mr. Rupert recedes in front of this wave of relief and I intend to turn him over to the police. Due to his tenuous hold on reality, I will probably have to physically drag him to the station instead of convincing him to go there with words. Either way, this torment ends today. 

I remain still as long as I can stand to have that man near me, every minute letting Mr. Wooster get further away. My skin is crawling where he touches me and I am about to fake a cough when a door slams in the hallway. Mr. Rupert is instantly awake and muttering about inconsiderate neighbors as he shakes me awake. Gathering our things, we proceed to the bathroom down the hall. It has a sink, a commode, and a tub with no divisions. Clearly this bathroom is not intended for more than one person at a time, but Mr. Rupert does not allow locked doors between us. 

I follow him out when we are done and almost laugh at the three cops waiting in the hallway. Lt. Lowe has brought the same two uniformed officers who enjoyed my coffee so long ago. Mr. Rupert does not know their names or features, as he never asked me, so he has no idea why they are here. Lt. Lowe provides him with a reason and Mr. Rupert latches onto it. 

“Two men sharing a bed and bath? Sounds like you’re up to more than saving money.” 

“Saving money, yes sir! The life of a day laborer is not an easy one, and sometimes you have to cut corners.” A survival mechanism must have activated in Mr. Rupert’s mind, as the skills of the confidence trickster are coming into play. 

“You don’t look like day laborers, ‘specially him in the fancy suit.” 

“Today’s a special day, sir. He’s helping out at a restaurant and I was looking for permanent work.” 

“Wait, if sharing a bed saves money, why were you sharing the bathroom too?” 

Mr. Rupert does not respond and turns to me for assistance. Simply claiming it was to save time is beyond him at this point and I chose not to offer that solution. The uniformed officers move forward and arrest us both as deviants. Out of some sense of perverse joy, I offer a wink at the desk clerks as we walk by with our hands cuffed behind us. Congratulating them on finally turning us in to the authorities, or perhaps assuring them that I will not seek retribution. Maybe I can find a legal way of getting out of prison, but if not I go knowing Mr. Wooster is alive and well. 

With the officers in the vehicle, Mr. Rupert does not get a chance to threaten me. He stares at me the entire drive, his face changing from threatening to needy and back again. My face is twitching in what Mr. Wooster would have recognized as a smile, though most people do not see my emotions at all. At the police station, I am shown to a large cell with several other men already in it. The bench is full, so I stand and consider the blue sky outside of the high window. 

When one of the seated men is called away, I take his place on the bench. Time slowly passes as my fellow inmates are released and I manage to fall asleep against the wall behind me. I check my watch upon awaking and notice it is eleven in the morning. I should be readying lunch and it feels strange not having a schedule in place. I am still considering what kind of schedule and work opportunities they might have in prison, when they escort a prisoner into the cells. Focusing on them, I see Mr. Rupert and he is grinning in a way that twists my insides. The bench has cleared off enough for him to sit beside me and speak in a low voice. 

“Don’t worry so much Reeves! There are only two jails they send men to around here. Normally they would separate two men charged with deviancy, but I told ‘em all about your employer.” Mr. Rupert is so caught up in his narrative; he fails to notice the look on my face. I feel like the entire world could tell exactly what I am feeling right now, so he should be the first to see the warning signs. “Told ‘em how I saved you from his demands, how you had to gratify his every whim in order to stay employed. Don’t worry, they know you limeys aren’t all that way. So me and you go to one jail, and Mr. Wooster goes to another! Brilliant, right?” 

“Moronic, actually.” That gets his attention and as he stares at me in shock I lean in to growl at him. “Mr. Wooster has sailed, you cannot hurt him anymore.” 

He does not understand, I can see that clearly in his eyes even as the panic starts to set in. Mr. Rupert’s survival instincts do not consider me a big enough threat to activate for, so he throws flimsy reasoning at me. None of his confidence tricks are evident in his haughty words. 

“We’ll go to jail together, the way it’s meant to be! They’ll turn the ship around and you’ll never see Bertie again. I can guarantee he’ll be dead inside a year!” 

I’m on my feet with Rupert’s coat in my hands, needing to slap some sense into him. When my hand connects with his face, it’s balled into a fist. He’s looking at me with anger, so I hit him again to make sure I broke his nose. He pulls away but my left hand is still clenched in his coat. He strikes me and I feel my lip split, but I don’t care. Another punch to that hated face and he trips backward, pulling me down on top of him. He’s trying to fight back and get away so I kneel with my knees on his hands. It takes a minute with him wriggling around, but he stops struggling when I produce the knife. I let him get a good look at the blade I purchased to use on him before I place it at his throat. 

“Mr. Wooster is gone, beyond your empty threats. But I’m still here. You ever mention his name again, or blame him for any of this and I will slit your throat!” 

I don’t know if he’s hearing me, because I want to do it. I want to feel his blood coating my hand and see his dead eyes. I’ve never known hate like this and it’s intoxicating. My hatred tells me that I won’t regret it, that it will give me something to dream about as I rot in prison. I’m sure there are other noises around me, but all I can hear are the sweet whispers from my emotions. All I can see is the shine of the knife in the river of blood from his broken nose, until a long fingered hand covers my own. I turn to growl a warning at whoever is moving in on my kill and realize I’m hallucinating. It has to be a police officer, but I still see Mr. Wooster. I jerk away and crack my head on the bench I left so long ago. 

Lt. Lowe and some other police are looking after Mr. Rupert, but Mr. Wooster is moving over to kneel in front of me. Mr. Wooster is kneeling in blood and my first coherent thought is about how hard that is going to be to get out of his trousers. I find my feet and attempt to straighten my appearance, though I am sure to be making it worse as I spread blood around. Mr. Wooster does not look his best either, but he is not covered in blood and bruises. He sports dark shadows under his sparkling eyes and two days of beard growth. The drape of his suit tells me he has lost weight and my hands itch to fix his badly knotted tie. 

“Sir, I was under the impression that your ship sailed this morning.” 

“Did it?” He just shrugs at me, as though it is completely unimportant that he be safe. 

Someone is cuffing me and shoving me to follow Lt. Lowe. I want to protest, demand that I be allowed to speak with Mr. Wooster, but his presence prevents me from making such a scene. I do not want to do anything that would lower his opinion of me any further than it must be now. When Lt. Lowe points me through a door, I do as he directs. It is a small interrogation room with two chairs at a table. I turn to see who has followed me into the room and find Mr. Wooster is still here. 

Lt. Lowe is talking with a man in a suit, but my attention is all on my former employer. Mr. Wooster had obligations awaiting him, and his Aunt Agatha was to meet him in New York. If anything, he should have left early to forget about my actions all the sooner. As long as the replacement I hired reminded him of what day the boat left, Mr. Wooster should have been on it. 

“Sir, why did you not sail with the boat?” 

“Being silly is my job, Jeeves, so don’t you do it.” 

“Sir?” 

“I couldn’t leave without you Jeeves, who would explain the Panama Canal to me?” 

It occurs to me that it is lucky my hands are cuffed, or else I might have actually hugged Mr. Wooster. His words are a drink in the desert and cause me to feel something other than anger and hate. Still, he was here, so I had to find a way to keep him out of jail. I only hope the truth would be enough to procure his freedom and convince him to go. I had thought of shielding him from the harsher aspects of the world when I left without an explanation, but that was no longer possible. 

I hiss as pain brings me back to reality, and realize the man in the suit is touching my split lip. There is clinical detachment in his face as he studies it but he looks downward. As he reaches for the bottom of my shirt I back away. The chair stops me and the doctor steps forward to pull up my shirt. I look up to see Mr. Wooster cover his mouth with his hand. A storm of emotions are racing through his expressive eyes and I have to help him. 

“The bruises are mostly healed, sir.” The doctor chooses that moment to shove on my side and I wince involuntary. Mr. Wooster steps forward to hold his hand out to me. He wants to help but does not know what to do that will not cause more pain. 

“The bruises are healing, but I’d say you’ve got three broken ribs and need some stitches in that lip.” The doctor’s words are unwelcome as I see signs of anger in Mr. Wooster’s face, after the doctor speaks. 

“What about the head rip thing?” Mr. Wooster sounds distressed but I have no idea how to comfort him, now that the doctor has proven I am only human. Paragons do not bleed, nor do they want to kiss their employers. Former employers. 

“It’s long and thin, but not deep. Looks bad, but it’ll be fine.” The Doctor is dabbing at my forehead with a cloth as he speaks. I have no memory of an injury to the right side of my forehead, but I notice Mr. Wooster looks pale under his sprouting beard. 

“Sir, perhaps you should have a seat while the doctor works?” He moves toward the chair at my words, but stops to look at me. 

“I’ll sit if you sit.” I turn to the doctor, who looks very amused at something. 

“It’ll be easier on me if you sit, you’re two feet taller than I am!” 

I let Mr. Wooster sit farthest from the door and then turn my head so the split lip is not in his line of sight. Mr. Wooster fidgets while the doctor readies the needle. I cannot take my eyes off of him and when he starts to talk I am only concerned with the sound of his voice. He is speaking of all the threats and arguments he got when he told people he would not be coming to New York as promised. The doctor finishes and leaves. We are not alone long as Lt. Lowe enters the room. I stand and offer him my chair, but he moves behind me and unlocks the cuffs. When he leans against the wall, I sit back down and try not to rub at my wrists. I see papers under his arm, but he does not look at them while he talks. 

“An anonymous source pointed out that Cleve Rupert had a neat little trick for remembering a new fake name. He’d turn his surname into his first name, clever, but it also made him easy to track, once we figured it out. Mr. Kent Clever was wanted for conning some old lady out of her money. Aaron Kent of Sandusky, Ohio had a legal problem, until we come to Toledo Fin, aka Warren Finley. All of these people match the description of Rupert Thorn, who was picked up earlier today. There are four warrants for his arrest in Ohio, though my boss will shoot me when he sees the phone calls I made to find all this out. He also won’t be please to find out that I’m only charging Rupert with assault.” 

“I say!” Mr. Wooster is on his feet, anger evident in his whole body. Lt. Lowe holds up a calming hand as he continues to speak. 

“Let me explain, Mr. Wooster. I’m not sure how things work over there, but we have jurisdiction issues. If somebody gets arrested and they have outstanding warrants elsewhere, we send him to be tried for the worst crime, first. That can be kind of hard to decide, especially when people get emotional about the crime. Prosecuting a murder is more important than getting a con artist, which is more important than somebody who gets in a fight. So Rupert is going to Ohio. When he gets out of jail for all the charges up there, they send him back here and we get a turn.” 

Mr. Wooster surprises me for two reasons. He looks as though he is actually following this but he does not relent in his angry demands. I have never witnessed Mr. Wooster filled with such a need to see justice done, and I find it invigorating. 

“Now, we have to keep everything we found in connection with this case, including the clothes in the rooming house, as evidence. A big problem is those firetraps of warehouses where we keep the evidence. You never know when pictures of alleged criminal activity might simply go up in smoke.” 

The rigid posture slowly left Mr. Wooster at Lt. Lowe’s words, but now he sits back in the chair. Mr. Wooster is confused and I am so relieved I want to slide to the floor. Lt. Lowe is carefully not admitting to having destroyed the photographs, but the real relief comes from knowing Mr. Wooster will never have to know of their existence. 

Lt. Lowe shifts and pulls the papers from under his arm with a grin on his face. He hands something to Mr. Wooster but his movement toward me attracts my attention. “I need you to sign these papers, and then you’ll both be free to go.” 

His words tempt me to sign and leave without reading the papers, but practicality is my watchword around Mr. Wooster. Quickly, I read the papers. Lt. Lowe has reproduced a verbatim report on our conversation in the tea house. He did not take that many notes and I am impressed by the detail of his recall. The document will be useful in convincing a judge that I did not enjoy my time with Mr. Rupert. I sign, but before I can return the pen to my pocket Lt. Lowe grabs it. 

“I know you’re tired, but you missed the whole right half of your R!” A glance at the paper confirms that my signature is valid, but Lt. Lowe is already fixing the nonexistent problem. As he returns my pen, I return my eyebrows to their normal position. He whisks the paper away as he goes to the door. “You can both go. Any problems with Rupert and I’ll use the information on this page to find you.” 

Lt. Lowe is walking down the hallway before I can find the words to thank him without admitting to the truth. It will be months or years before they need my testimony, if at all. Without instructions to stay in town, we are able to travel freely. The piece of paper I had signed in good faith listed the address of hotel Mr. Rupert had selected. As unlikely as was that they were to find me living at that address in several years, I would be even more difficult to find when they searched for the man named on that form. With a swirl of my pen, Lt. Lowe had seen to that by making an R out of the J., Reginald Reeves would never be heard from again and Mr. Rupert would never threaten Mr. Wooster again. Mr. Wooster is on his feet and standing beside me when his words break into my thoughts. 

“I’ll admit to not following all that, but let’s get out of here before they change their minds!” 

“An excellent idea, Sir.” I find my feet and follow Mr. Wooster out of the police station. Just being this close to him feels like being home again, and I am glad he cannot see my undignified grin. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


When the door to Mr. Wooster’s hotel suite is opened by Mr. Morgan, I realize I no longer have a home. Mr. Wooster grabs my arm and pulls me into the room without stopping his discussion of Bruce “Corky” Corcoran’s latest artistic success. Mr. Morgan takes Mr. Wooster’s hat, and I am acutely aware that what I have on my person is all I have. Mr. Wooster stops speaking long enough to light a cigarette and turns to face Mr. Morgan. 

“Morgan, I’m leaving Jeeves in your hands. He needs a bath and some clothes and whatever else. He’ll tell you where to get what and such. I’ll order lunch, so get to it.” 

“Sir.” Having someone else do things for me, in Mr. Wooster’s residence, brings thoughts of panic into my head. Do I now expect kind Mr. Wooster to send Mr. Morgan packing and hire back someone who left without proper warning? Mr. Morgan is young, American and inexperienced, but enthusiastic for the opportunity. I believed these qualities would focus Mr. Wooster’s energies on helping the man, and erase me from his life. I have to explain that I cannot take the young man’s job and will seek employment elsewhere, but Mr. Wooster waves off my attempt. 

“You heard me, bathe and dress, you’ll feel like a paragon again!” Mr. Wooster sprawls on the couch, looking over the menu provided. Mr. Morgan is holding the door to the bathroom open, but it is my own desire for a bath and clean clothes that makes me move forward. I provide Mr. Morgan with a list of my needs, sizes and preferred materials. It is a list of essentials, as I intend to pay for my own replacements when I get the chance. 

After Mr. Morgan leaves I have to scrub off the dried blood before I can draw up a bath. Seeing the pile of blood coated clothes on the beige tiles of the floor, I am glad I talked Mr. Wooster into letting me take the servants stairs up to this floor. We may not have been in his usual haunts, but I did not wish to cause him any embarrassment, even in front of strangers. 

I wake as Mr. Morgan enters the bathroom to hang my clothes on the rack provided. The water has grown cold, so I splash some on my face and emerge from the tub. Mr. Morgan comes over with a towel and I accept it from him. He begins to speak as I dry off. 

“Sir, I am sorry I was not able to keep our bargain.” Mr. Morgan was referring to the conversation we had at the employment agency a month ago. I had told him of Mr. Wooster’s habits, but stressed he was to make sure Mr. Wooster was on that ship when it sailed. “I tried, but he was nothing like the man you described! The morning after you left, he woke me up hours before breakfast. He interrogated me, trying to find out if you had told me anything useful. We spent the day in different police stations all over town. The next day he hired four different private eyes to find a Mr. Cleve Rupert.” 

Mr. Morgan moves to wipe down the bathtub while he speaks and I begin to dress. Before putting on a garment, I check it over to see if it is up to my standards. I must look like I am not paying attention, but I am enthralled by his narrative. Mr. Wooster is not the smartest man I have ever known, but perhaps this is because he never needed to be. 

“I don’t know exactly what happened, but a cop showed up this morning. It was all I could do to get Mr. Wooster dressed before he left, let alone shaved! Then he told me to go pay off the PI’s and that’s why I didn’t go to the station with him. I feel like such a failure, but I was so sure I could do the job you described. If it wasn’t for him always talking about you, I would have thought I had the wrong man!” 

“The fault was not with you, Mr. Morgan. I underestimated Mr. Wooster’s determination and resourcefulness. I did not expect him to be so motivated to assist me out of my troubles.” Had I not been exhausted by the last month, I would have questioned Mr. Wooster on his actions during the cab ride to the hotel. 

“Since I didn’t get Mr. Wooster on the boat and I didn’t go to New York with him, let alone London, I’ll give you back the advance you paid me.” 

“That will not be necessary. You may keep it as my appreciation for your efforts to look after Mr. Wooster.” 

“If you’re sure?” I turn from brushing my hair in the mirror to catch his eye before nodding. “Thank you so much! I don’t know when I’ll get another job, especially not one as nice as this. Lots of stuff to do, I get to live in a fancy hotel and wear nice clothes. You get to travel everywhere; it’s just like being rich!” 

“If you are interested in learning, I have connections that could get you a job in New York. Assuming, of course, that Mr. Wooster does not plan on retaining you.” 

“No, he told me that he only needed my help in getting packed in time to get there before the evening tide.” 

“The tide this evening?” 

“Yes, sir. I bought the tickets while I was out getting your things. I hope the suitcase I bought for you is adequate. He said you liked something smallish, but large enough.” 

I wanted to ask more about our destination but put it aside as leaving served my own desire to put this all behind us. “I only asked for one suit of clothes, why did I need a suitcase?” 

“Mr. Wooster changed your instructions. I figured he employed both of us, so his orders took precedence. Spending money on you is probably his way of saying how glad he is to have you back. He never said the words, but every time I did something, anything, he compared me to you in his mind. When you hired me, I knew you were excellent at your job, you were so dignified and confidant. But if I didn’t know better, I’d swear Mr. Wooster was mourning the loss of his best friend!” 

I want to hear more about how Mr. Wooster missed me, but my need to protect him was paramount. I needed to distract Mr. Morgan from his line of thinking, so he did not get similar ideas to those of Mr. Rupert. “Perhaps you should show me the suitcase in question.” 

“It’s in the second bedroom, with the rest of the clothes. What do you want me to do about this suit?” I look at the filthy suit on the floor, and realize I could never wear it again. Even if it could be spotless again, I doubt I could stand to touch it. All my other possessions have been lost, so loosing this suit will rid me of all reminders of the past month. The one item I cared about was also gone and clothes were far less important than my book. 

“Mr. Morgan, I would appreciate it if you would dispose of it.” 

“Do you care how? The shirt is a loss, but I think I could clean up the suit and trade it for one that fits me.” 

“You may do so; I have no further claim on it.” Straightening my sleeves, I step out into the main room. I plan on assessing the clothing, to find out how much I need to refund Mr. Wooster but he waves at me from the table. The dishes are still covered and he puts away a book as I walk over. He waited to eat until I was ready to serve him, and I am beyond happy at the chance. Standing beside him, I reach for the silver cloche and stop when he protests. 

“No, not serving me today, Jeeves. Sit and I’ll tell all or pert near.” My experience in Mr. Rupert’s household started with me being asked to sit and it takes me a minute to force the memories back. Mr. Wooster is the polar opposite of Mr. Rupert, and would never even think of doing such things. Mr. Wooster pulls his lid off with a flourish, so I remove mine as delicately as I can. 

“You know I love a good soak, so I didn’t know how long you’d be with the rubber ducky. Got sandwiches, so it wouldn’t matter if they got cold, what?” The large bite he takes does not diminish his huge grin in any way. My stomach rumbles at the sight, but I have no appetite for food. 

“A wise choice, indeed, Sir.” I pick up the sandwich and begin eating, if only to prove my appreciation of his thoughtfulness. 

“I don’t need two valets you know, so for right now you are unemployed. Least I can do is provide an unemployed man a sandwich!” I see humor in his beautiful eyes and allow him to see my tiny grin, even as I ask once my mouth is cleared. 

“How might one, such as myself, go about applying for gainful employment with a fine gentleman, such as yourself?” I have had job interviews before, but much more than money depends on the answers this time. I take another bite and recognize the sandwich is pastrami. 

“Do you have a reference from your last employer?” 

“That would depend on how you define employment. I might have sent my last employer to prison, even though he never paid me for my work.” 

“Makes one wonder how he secured your services then. Not a matter for now, though.” Mr. Wooster dismisses this point easily, and I am glad to move on. “What about your employer before that?” 

“An intriguing individual, he secured my loyalty with far more than money.” Mr. Wooster looks dazed, as though he has never received a better complement. I am also rather surprised by the words. They are true, but not something I would have admitted to under normal circumstances. “That being said, Sir, I feel I must apologize for…”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Wooster’s open hand connects with the table to emphasis his words. It is not a particularly loud or violent action, but I feel my body tense anyway. “I will not have you spouting nonsense, old thing. You have nothing to apologize for! It is clearly my job to beg forgiveness from you.” 

“Me, Sir?” The sandwich is forgotten as I try to understand the leap his brain has taken. 

“I could see how stiff you were around Cleave, I should have known there was a reason! You warned me not to trust him as you put me to bed. When you told me you had to leave, I went crazy. All emotional and I should have done more to make you explain, so I could have helped in some way! I was distraught, and you weren’t here to do the thinking for me, so I had to force myself to think. Obviously Cleave was the reason you left, so I set out to track him down. Let you down, couldn’t find you, I’m useless without you.” The shame in his voice pulls up my need to let him be as happy as he can. I want to make Mr. Wooster happy, even in the way Mr. Rupert used the word. 

“No Sir, you saved…” My words trail off, as I find I am unsure what he saved. No, I know what he saved but I am unsure how to tell him. Clearing my throat, I speak without thinking, an action that is the antithesis of my normal preferences. “Me, Sir, you saved everything that I am. Had you left with the boat, I would have killed him.” 

“I can’t win an argument with you, but I think you would have come to your senses before giving him the old bloody necktie. But I also know you only went with him and put up with all that because of me somehow. He threatened me and you gave your all to protect me. Deny that, I dare you!” 

Perhaps it is only due to my skill with words, but I have never lied to Mr. Wooster. I have avoided the exact truth or omitted details, but outright lies have never been necessary. Do I dare lie to him on this? Or will prevaricating serve me once again? “Sir, I would be interested in knowing what lead you to these conclusions.” 

“All those crime and detective novels that are beneath you. I know my head is almost as empty as a balloon, but they all talk about the importance of observing things. I didn’t think you had much use for my stories after you proofread them, but I can write those because I watch other people.” 

“Sir, I am aware of your observation skills. Many people claim that I have a face like a stuffed frog and no emotions, but you can always tell what I am feeling.” 

“Well, not always, or else we wouldn’t be here, what?” 

“Sir, in your opinion, where are we?” Mr. Wooster’s eyes grow even more thoughtful and he produces a cigarette. I do not have a lighter in my new clothes, so I have to sit and let him light it himself. After slowly letting out the first lungful, the thoughtfulness disappears. 

“Where we are is in need of getting rid of lunch before teatime. Then you should pack your stuff because we’ve got a ride to catch. Morgan will get my gear ready. Little bit of training and he’ll be very good, but I trust you’ve already procured him another gig. You start your job soon, so you’d best celebrate while you got the chance! Go on, I’ve got a book I’m terribly interested in.” 

Mr. Wooster gets up and walks over to the couch, picking up his book as he does so. Mr. Morgan arrives to gather the dishes, so I am left with little to do but as Mr. Wooster instructed. The clothes are exactly as specified or better. The suitcase will service me for quite a while, holding all the items here as well as several decent sized books. The toiletries kit is of a finer quality than I would have purchased for myself, but it is not an item regularly seen by people who might question if I had stolen from my employers. I feel it will be safe to keep all the items purchased for me. 

The receipts are not with the items, but I have a general idea of the costs and will reimburse Mr. Wooster for them. I do wonder how much of the purchase is Mr. Morgan’s judgment and how much is Mr. Wooster’s instructions. At least until I find a pair of lurid purple socks on the bottom of the stack. Mr. Morgan might have done the actual shopping, but Mr. Wooster told him what to purchase. There is no other reason a man who described me as dignified would have selected such an item for me. I consider ‘losing’ the socks under the bed, but a reason I cannot pinpoint has me putting them into the suitcase. 

The hotel provides paper and envelopes, so I sit down to write. First I provide instructions for cleaning the blood out of clothing, and how to get the best price for that suit. Then the letter of recommendation and instructions on whom to contact are written out for Mr. Morgan. His future is one I can do something about. Mr. Wooster intends to employ me, but I have doubts I cannot define. Perhaps I no longer feel worthy of being his paragon. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  


Afternoon tea was strange, as I again sat across from Mr. Wooster. A few bites of sandwich had been my only substance for the day, so I partook heartily of the tea and cakes. Mr. Morgan served us and no amount of questions from me could get any further information on our upcoming cruise from them. Mr. Wooster patted the tickets through his jacket and grinned at me whenever I asked. Ships bound for New York only departed every week or so, which meant it was no longer in consideration. We could have taken a train back to New York, but then the evening tide would not have mattered to our departure time. 

The taxi left us at the docks and we took our leave of Mr. Morgan there. He was smiling as he took the envelopes from me and tried to talk Mr. Wooster out of the large payment he offered. Mr. Morgan was profuse in his words of appreciation and would have talked a while longer if the call of the boat whistle had not pulled us away. I carried Mr. Wooster’s luggage and my own with practiced ease, but had to be careful of the broken ribs. The doctor would have provided instructions on how to care for them, but I was too distracted by Mr. Wooster to listen. I would simply avoid doing anything that hurt until such time as I could get another doctor to instruct me. Once the porter had led us to the first class cabin, I sat down the suitcases and selected one to empty into the drawers. 

“Whatever are you up to now, Jeeves?” 

“Putting your clothes in the drawers and closet for easier access, Sir.” Mr. Wooster is grinning at me with the closed door behind him as I reply. I know something is up and simply wait out his desire to tell me. 

“Thing is Jeeves, this isn’t my room.” Mr. Wooster is so excited by his surprise he is almost quivering. I am apprehensive, highly paranoid about doing anything that could be perceived as inappropriate. Being given expensive gifts by an employer could easily raise such suspicions. 

“It is not, Sir?” 

“Nope. Got your name on the matching ticket. Mine’s next door, so you won’t have to go far to indeed me.” 

“Indeed, Sir?” 

“Yeah, just how I told Morgan to do it.” 

“Might one inquire as to why, Sir?” 

“Because you need pampering, and a chance to heal.” 

“My wounds look worse than they are, Sir.” 

“Not the physical ones I’m talking about, old fruit.” It is with effort that I return my eyebrows to where they should be, but the look is not lost on the observant Mr. Wooster. “By your own words, you risked your soul to help me. And I’m sure it got knocked around a bit while you were gone; mine did. Not a lot of people who would do that for an employer, despite what you think. And then there is your reason for leaving with Cleave. Why didn’t you tell me? You chose not to, but was that to protect me from knowledge, or yourself from emotions?” 

That is a reason that did not occur to me, but I have always known that the expressive Mr. Wooster has made me more emotional. I had known the effect the photographs had on my hidden desires, so by not admitting to the nature of the extortion I had put one more barrier between accidently telling Mr. Wooster of these feelings. If I had told him Mr. Rupert had a picture of us kissing, would I have then told him I wanted to kiss him? 

Mr. Wooster has walked away from me and I turn to find him digging through a suitcase he has placed on the dresser. When he turns to me, he has a book in his hand. His face is still and serious as he holds the front cover up so I can see it. I recognize it instantly and am more than a little confused by its presence. I left it in the rooming house with my belongings and believed it to be in a police evidence locker. 

“Sir, might I ask where you acquired my book?” 

“It’s my book, I wrote it anyway. My first published novel and a first edition at that. You, with your marvelous memory, lived these stories and then proofread them before I sent it out into the world. So why would you need this book? Not even easy to get in the wilds of America, so why would you bring it from London?” 

“The written word is an excellent aid in keeping the memory sharp.” More prevarication, because I cannot lie to him any more than I can tell him the truth. He lets out a small laugh and I realize he has seen my words for what they are and dismissed them. 

“Imagine my surprise when Lt. Lowe called on me this morning. In all my searching for you, I had never met the man, never heard his name mentioned. No reason I should have, I guess, as you didn’t mention me to him, protecting me no doubt. When he went through the belongings, he found the only personal possession between the two of you, a book by an English author. Did some detective stuff and found me in the hotel. Yes, imagine my surprise, and then i. his s. when I matched some photographs he found in the book.” 

“Exactly how many photographs, Sir?” To me, my voice sounds panicky and I remind myself that I do not panic when Mr. Wooster is safe. In Mr. Rupert’s household I had only allowed myself to review the book when I was particularly unhappy. I had also never destroyed the doctored image I had placed in there with the others. Surely Lt. Lowe would have included that in his destruction of the evidence! 

“Enough, Jeeves. Enough that the intent of those pictures was clear, even I could see what they suggested. Cleave was threatening to send me to prison with those pictures, and you sold yourself to the devil to save me.” 

He knows the whole truth, and I am frozen in body and brain. Mr. Wooster starts moving toward me, slowly as if he thinks I will run. I wish I was capable of running right now. 

“I could tell they were fake though. Yes, I knew we’d never done anything inappropriate, but I could tell the fake you wasn’t you. Rough hands, like a field worker. You have long fingers, soft skin and delicate hands. Your hands are fascinating, and I love all the things I get to watch you doing with them. I’ve often wondered just what you could do with them. The fake me was obviously fake too. Do you want to know why? Because if we were in that position, I’d have one hand stroking your beloved head. I’ve always wanted to stroke it, pat it, thank that bulge for making you who you are.” 

And he does so, softly, sweetly and I close my eyes to dwell in it. Mr. Rupert’s face is waiting on me and I jerk my eyes open. Mr. Wooster is there, amazed by his own daring, startled by what he is touching. Mr. Rupert fades, but I keep my open eyes on Mr. Wooster. Both of his hands start tracing through my hair and he licks his lips into a smile. 

I surprise myself by leaning in to kiss him. Mr. Rupert never did this; it spoke of affection and love. This was new, something between Mr. Wooster and I. His expressive face and mobile mouth now seemed intent on devouring me, so I do the same to him. He is delicious, already hard and wanting as we press together. My eyes are open but the lanky frame and sandy hair sets me off. All I can see is Mr. Rupert’s face and body, and he will shove that hardness into me, relishing my pain! 

“Jeeves!” It is the fear in Mr. Wooster’s cry that brings me back to see him standing over me. I must have backed away from his embrace, because I am sitting on the end of the bed panting and trembling. How can I explain this reaction without disgusting him with the truth? 

“Sir, I want what you offer, more than I can say. Mr. Rupert, however...” 

“He didn’t!” Mr. Wooster interrupts me, understanding more than I intended. I cannot even find the words to lie to him before he begins to pace the room in agitation. “He did and I should have let you kill him! No, you should have told me sooner, so I could kill him!” 

“Don’t talk like that, Sir!” Now I interrupt him, as I need to explain all I did was to preserve him. Keep his joy and innocence intact from a world that could be quite cruel. He stops his pacing to look at my shoes intently. “Do not let this incident or that person change your nature, Sir.” 

“You like me as I am?” He clearly wants to believe, but mostly doubts that I could appreciate him. I respond without thinking, taking what may be my one chance to tell him the truth. 

“I love you as you are. You are my source of joy.” He looks up at my words and slowly his face turns into an improbably large smile. The noonday sun hides in his head, because I can clearly see it peeking out when he smiles like that. Mr. Wooster dwells on my words for a few moments, before moving in to kneel in front of me. 

“So I won’t let the blighter change me then, but the separation did. I want to make you happy, Jeeves. What I want isn’t as important as what you need and you need to heal, to be ready. When we get to Alaska, you can start working for me again. In the meantime, I would be honored to be your friend.” 

The words I need to hear but not the words I want to hear. I want him to love me, to need me more than life itself. But friends during a cruise will instead be the happiest memory of my life. “Do you really mean that Sir?” 

“I mean I’ll do what you need me to, be what you need me to be. If friend’s the best I can hope for, I’ll be your best friend.” 

“Sir, I am not rejecting you.” 

“Then what are you doing? No, I mean, what do you think you need, from me and all?” 

I have no idea how to respond to that, for I have no knowledge from which to draw. I do not even know what subject to find it under. Was it rape, torture, or a psychological experiment in deconstructing my personality? How do I begin to fix what I cannot define? 

“Jeeves, can you call me Bertie?” 

“I do not believe so, Sir.” I am so caught up in my thoughts I do not consider the implications of his words before I answer. 

“Say my name and I’ll quit.” I focus on him but before I can ask, his hands are pulling at my tie. Mr. Wooster is working on the buttons before I begin to guess at what he is doing. I want him, and he wants me. Not even Mr. Rupert stands between me and what I want most, I do. My own fear and insecurities threaten to let this chance slip away. If I have any claim to the intellect that Mr. Wooster so highly prizes in me, I will not let fear stop this. I gasp as warm hands touch the bare skin of my chest. 

“Say Bertie if you want I should stop.” 

I cannot say anything; I am so lost in his touch. Gentle and warm, so different than, well, anyone else. Soft lips trail kisses over a bruise on my left collar bone and I flash on how that injury occurred. It is only a flash of memory though, over quickly and not as painful as it usually was. As his warmth moves downward, I stare at the top of his head. The light reflects on his sandy hair, turning it golden. I realize Mr. Rupert was silver plating. 

He had the look of respectability because he had polished that look. His heart was as cold and unyielding as formed lead with a layer of silver. Mr. Wooster is gold, warming to the touch. Soft and pliable at his purest but under the right mix of circumstances he could be hard as steel. I must tell him that I will see to it that he never needs to be that strong again. Focusing outward again, I realize that at some point I had laid back onto the bed. Mr. Wooster was teasing the skin over my appendix, but his hands start unfastening my trousers. 

“Ber…” I cannot be sure of what I was about to say, or even why I paused. Bertram has stopped, his hand on my left hip as he looks up at me. 

“Do you want me to stop?” It is all there in his eyes, honest and displayed for the world to see. Bertram did not want to stop, but he would! One word from me and he would deny himself so that I could have what I needed. There is much that I am unsure of, but one thing I know is that I need him. He wants to make me happy and nobody has ever wanted to do that before. 

“No Sir, never stop.” Bertram skips straight to my penis and takes all my blood with him. He is entirely focused on my erection and not at all opposed to licking it. I am sure he has never done this before but he makes up for the lack of skill with enthusiasm. But knowing who is down there, that it is Bertram making love to me is erotic beyond measure. It is over far too soon, as I touch a place of bliss. When I am spent, Bertram curls up on the bed beside me, knees almost to his chest. In such a position, I cannot tell if he had enjoyed the activity, so I look into his eyes and ask. “Sir, do you wish for reciprocation?” 

“Rather! When you feel up to it, I mean. In the mean time I might have another go at you. You taste so good I might bottle and sell you as a sauce!” I am surprised into a laugh, which Bertram happily joins. Sobering, I allow a hand to slide through his silky hair. 

“Sir, I do not wish you to do anything against your will.” 

“It’s my will that you stay. I’ll do anything to make sure you never leave me again. If it was legal and all, I’d have the captain marry us right now, anything to bind you to me!” Mr. Wooster’s head tilts away from the bed and his face gets a dreamy look. “Mr. Reginald Wooster, I like the sound of that. I mean, if I was Bertie Jeeves, everybody’d call me BJ. Can you call me Bertie?” 

“No. Bertram; it had always been Bertram in my heart.” 

“Strangest thing, I never liked Bertram before, and nobody ever called me that, outside of legal things. But when you say it, it sounds magical, Reginald.” 

“Indeed Sir. There is magic behind a name spoken with such affection in it.” 

“Love, my love, not affection. Reginald, I love you and I will be anything you want me to be.” 

“Happy, Bertram. I want you to be happy.” 

“Then you need to stay with me until the end of time!” 

“Understood, Sir. And gladly will I stay, Bertram.” He leans in to seal our promises with a kiss, giving me the golden warmth of sunshine. I feel the layer of silver plating that was forced on me, melt away from my heart. Traces may linger for a while, but soon I will be free to love Bertram with all of my unbound heart. 

  
**J <3B **¯\\_(ツ)_ /¯ **J <3B **  



End file.
